34 33-The Fall of a Titan

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are the exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin, respectively. I make no claim to ownership.


Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki and Ashestodust. I also want to thank my beta-readers nicknm and Bub3loka for helping me bounce ideas around.


If you're feeling generous and want to support me, you can find me on P*T*E*N under the same name for up to three early access chapters(a week before discord).


Author's Note: I might as well address some of the problems that people raised in the comments of the last chapter.

1) Jon/Harry cares about the Starks because he inherited the full set of memories and feelings of Jon Snow. The first thing he saw when he woke up was the battered body of his sister/cousin, and he couldn't leave her alone to the dogs. He has no intrinsic feelings towards the Targaryens, and he knows them through their actions or the consequences of the said actions. Daenerys = ruin and devastation in her wake. Rhaegar = a person who kidnaps a 14-year-old maiden and abandons his wife and children. Aerys = fire-loving madman.

2) Daenerys came into his home uninvited as a show of force (because landing a dragon in the middle of Winterfell's courtyard is a very obvious and highhanded threat) and was not beyond using threats when he refused to submit. Why would he tell her anything that could easily be used against him in the negotiations(like having a legendary enemy from the north)? From his previous life, he knew one simple truth - if you want to do something, do it yourself. Relying on others would only get you disappointed and those you love-killed. Not to mention that for someone as powerful as Harry, being at the mercy of others ( because that's what swearing fealty entails) is completely unacceptable.

And once the threat was verbally spoken by his aunt, leaving the Targaryens alone would be utterly unacceptable. (And no, he never considers them his family, he never saw them, never heard anything good about them, and they're obviously a little insane and have a disdain for following rules and laws. Even magic itself was uncertain if he was truly a Targaryen or not) Not someone you want as your neighbour or liege.

And no, neither Harry nor Jon are saints - they were willing to get their hands dirty in order to do what they thought was needed. Currently, Jon has no care in the world beyond his family (The ones who raised him with love, aka the Starks, and his wife) and the people he has duty to defend. He is not a perfect man either, and when is willing to do black deeds in his fury.

House Targaryen might think themselves beyond gods and men, but their deeds speak louder than their words and have consequences.

3)Why negotiate with the Lannisters? Because they kept every courtesy with him so far (after the stupid bounty). Playing the courtesy game shows that they're willing to follow the rules. For all Jon knows, the main antagonists from House Lannister were Tywin and Joffrey, who are both long dead now. He has no way of knowing Cersei and Jaime's sordid deeds. And an alliance is a loose term- he literally means to get benefits for something he would do anyway - fight the Targaryens. He has nothing to lose by trying to bury the hatchet, aside from maybe a little time.

4)Why mention that Daenerys has broken her word with the Slave Masters of Astrapor? Because it's a matter of principle. How does this look from the outside? Daenerys promised something and immediately broke her end of the bargain and turned on the other side just because it fitted her. She had no beef with the Astrapori, yet decided to kill them for personal gain. She claims that she has freed the unsullied, yet every single one of them still serves her as if she is their owner. So in Jon's eyes, she's willing to twist and turn on her own words as soon as it fits her. Why would he trust anything she has to say?

And negotiation doesn't mean that anything would be even agreed upon, only that they'll talk.


Sorry for the long rant; without further ado, enjoy the chapter.


Petyr Baelish, Casterly Rock

The meeting chamber looked rather glum. Cersei's face was unreadable, and she carefully measured each council member with her green eyes. Petyr felt her gaze linger on him half a moment longer than on the others.

Things were not going well for him or the Lannisters. Another Targaryen had ruined his plans.

"It is as we have feared. Daenerys has married Aegon, their forces are joined, and now they're using the dragons in battle. Riverrun has fallen, and the rest of the Riverlords will be quick to surrender," Daven broke the silence.

The Queen Regent only nodded impassively at the news. The rest of the council looked quite worried, and they were right to be so because victory was nowhere in sight.

"What of my aunt?" The Queen Regent asked.

"She was sent to the Silent Sisters, her sons have died in the battle, and her grandsons were sent to the Wall."

Petyr barely contained his snort. It seems that Aegon was quite wise - the boys might have caused problems down the line if they joined the Faith or the Maesters, and sending them North to the Night's Watch was outwardly merciful. But the Frey name was probably the most hated thing north of the Neck, so their chances of survival were slim at best.

"What can we do against the dragons?!" Lord Crane asked worriedly. His thinning grey mane was unkempt, and he had large circles around his eyes. The Reacher Lord regretted swearing fealty to Tommen Baratheon.

"We are building more scorpions as fast as we can. Stormcloud, Aegon III's young dragon, was slain with a scorpion bolt by the Triarchy. The iron-headed shaft pierced through the scaly neck of the adolescent drake with ease. We would be right to be afraid if Daenerys Targaryen's dragons were as old as Balerion during the conquest, whose scales shrugged off the projectiles with ease. But they should not be older than four to five name days. They can still be slain," Devan spoke with conviction, though that did little to assuage the worries of the new Master of Laws. People still remembered the Field of Fire and were not eager to fight against dragons, scorpions or not.

Tommen's Hand did not say anything about their army being outnumbered three to one.

Cersei leaned forward, placed a parchment on the table, and looked at Petyr.

"My cousin Lucion wrote back from Winterfell with some very interesting news. My daughter is indeed there and alive, albeit scarred and missing an ear," her green eyes had gone completely cold as they gazed at him. "The attack upon Myrcella in Dorne was far more serious than reported. I understand why the Dornish would lie about it. That's what they do, after all. But why have we not received a word about any of this from you, Lord Baelish?"

"The Dornish are well versed in deception, so it has always been hard to receive anything from their deserts. As I said before, my previous spies in Winterfell were killed when the Ironborn sacked it. And both Dorne and the North are inhospitable and suspicious of outsiders, so it is very hard to spy there successfully," he carefully explained himself. Petyr was getting tired of getting questioned like this. The number of ridiculous rumours he had to sift through to find reliable information was too high.

Cersei nodded with a scowl at his words. Baelish contemplated leaving once again. But he knew that she had quietly sent Damion Lannister with a ship full of gold to Braavos. Tons of gold were almost moved in the night through Lannisport without him finding out about it. If one of the men had not spoken about it to his favourite whore, Petyr would have never known. It seemed that the Golden Queen was not afraid to throw millions of dragons at the Faceless Men to eliminate her enemies. And Baelish knew that the Faceless Men never failed. Cersei was clever to keep silent about it, though. Now, there was no point in joining Aegon when his days were numbered. Petyr might be on shaky ground right now, but he was still in the game!

"Jon Snow demands that we recognize the North as a sovereign kingdom and rescind the bounties on his and his sister's heads. In return, the North will not meddle in the affairs of the south and Myrcella will be returned come spring," the Queen Regent said gravely.

"Removing the bounties would give Jon Snow legitimacy and make us seem weak!" Daven warned cautiously. They already seemed weak for sending out a bounty on highborn sons and daughters as if they were common outlaws, but Petyr knew better than to speak it out loud. "And we cannot allow the North to stay independent. What would stop Dorne, The Vale, and the Iron Isles from seceding?"

"We will rescind the bounties," Cersei ordered sharply. "We cannot risk my daughter's safety!"

"Why don't we ally with the Starks against the dragons? Legitimise Jon Snow, marry the Princess to him to bring back the North into the fold," Lord Crane proposed thoughtfully. A decent idea, but the man did not know Tywin's daughter at all. Her face had gone cold, and she was staring daggers at the Master of Laws.

"The armies of the North have been exhausted, and there should be little of them left. And it seems that Eddard Stark's baseborn son already has a wife. A girl with a scar instead of greyscale that they're claiming to be Shireen Baratheon," she replied with a snort.

"Why would he do that? Even if she was truly Stannis' daughter, there's no way that Jon Snow would get any support through that marriage. Stannis was ill-liked, and all the support he managed to muster died during his campaign. Marrying Shireen Baratheon only brings him more enemies. Surely, he is not that foolish?" Petyr spoke up, completely baffled. By all accounts, Jon Snow was a dangerous man, yet he could not make heads or tails of this marriage. It didn't make any sense.

"There's nothing else to be done about the North for now. Lucion said that spiriting away with my daughter is impossible, as his retinue was disarmed and under constant watch. At least, according to my cousin, Eddard Stark's baseborn son knows to treat Myrcella with the dignity and respect befitting her station," Cersei said with curled lips. The chamber fell into an uncomfortable silence. The Queen Regent hadn't even touched her wine glass once and was carefully looking at the other council members again. After a minute, Cersei simply dismissed the meeting.

Petyr headed towards his chambers. He felt way too tense after the last hour, and it was time to relax. His servant, Jennelyn, was already waiting for him on the bed. It had taken him quite some effort to bring her into Casterly Rock. Handpicked from all the whores in Lannisport for her auburn hair and blue eyes. Although her hair was curly, and her eyes had a green tint, he could easily imagine Cat instead. Petyr slipped his hands under her loose gown and groped her supple breasts. Just as he loosened his belt, the door opened with a bang, and before turning around, something hard smashed into the back of his head, and he lost consciousness.


Baelish woke up in a panic as his face was submerged in cold water. He attempted to hold his breath and struggled to move up, but he felt like a mountain was pressing on the back of his neck.

Just when he thought he'd drown, his head and upper body were dragged above the water. He coughed, spat out some water, and tried to see, but everything was dark and blurry. He shivered as the cold seeped through his wet doublet. As he began to come to his senses, the foul smell of mould assaulted him.

"Hello, Littlefinger," a familiar yet cold voice greeted him. "I received an envoy yesterday. A... most boring man, bearing a quite interesting tale. I did not want to believe it at first, but he turned out very.. .convincing. How someone used my hate for my stunted little brother to get away with the murder of MY SON!"

He managed to wipe his eyes with his damp sleeve, and turn around, only to see Cersei looking at him, face contorted with fury.

Just as Petyr attempted to speak up and explain himself, a pair of strong hands lifted him effortlessly, and his face was forced under the cold water again. His mind panicked again, and his limbs flailed as he tried to escape the iron grip holding him. He struggled to hold his breath more and more with each passing second. Just as he thought he'd drown again, he was pulled out of the water and dropped like a sack of rocks on the ground.

"Please..." he managed to cough out and tried to wipe his blurry eyes again.

"We're deep in the bowels of Casterly Rock, where the dungeons and the torture chamber are. Tell me everything I want to know, and you will get a quick death," her voice sounded demonic in his ears.

"Please, do me a favour and lie, you filthy maggot," a greasy voice spoke with a soft tone that made all of his skin crawl. He squinted his eyes and saw a short, round silhouette next to the Queen. "I've not had a toy to play with for moons now. I might have failed at becoming a maester, but the knowledge of the body was invaluable in helping me keep my toys alive for years."

A torch was brought closer, and Petyr was blinded. After blinking a few times, he was faced with a short, round man with a rat-like pale face and cruel black eyes. He was dressed in black robes, covered with rusty stains… blood. And happily twirled iron pliers in his meaty hand. Was this man a torturer?!

"He insisted on pulling out a nail or two first, but I am a gracious Queen. I decided to give you a chance to confess first," Cersei said with a cruel smirk." Lie to me, and I'll enjoy hearing you squeal like a pig."

He was about to open his mouth and try and spin a tale, but the torturer was looking at him as if he was a naked maiden in a whorehouse. With his already wet garments, he started shivering uncontrollably. At that moment, Baelish knew he was truly and utterly fucked. He did not have enough time to make friends and alliances here in the Westerlands. There was nobody that would come for him if they even knew he was in trouble. Terror gripped his heart.

"I'll speak!" he managed to rasp out, and Cersei's eyes lit up. Under the gleeful eyes of the torturer, the true tale of Joffrey's demise started spilling out his mouth like a flood. His head was pulsing painfully, his eyes stung, and his throat was so dry every word began to hurt.

Cersei's eyes became colder and colder as she listened.

"P-please. Just make it quick," he croaked out weakly after he finished. Petyr just wanted this nightmare to be over.

"Hugo, did he lie?" Cersei turned to the round man.

"No, Your Grace," was the greasy reply. The torturer looked sad, almost ready to cry.

"As I said, I am a generous Queen. You can have a new toy," her voice chilled Petyr's blood.

Childlike joy appeared on the greasy, rat-like face.

"Thank you, My Queen!"

Something big behind him moved, grasped his neck, and the latest Lord of Harrenhal was lifted effortlessly. He managed to twist his face, only to spot the armoured figure of Ser Robert Strong in the corner of his eye. He wanted to resist, but the strength had already fled his trembling limbs, and even on his best day, he would not be a match to the monstrous new Kingsguard.

"You promised!" he managed to muster a raspy shout towards Cersei as he was carried after the torturer. "...a quick death!"

"I lied!" Cersei smirked cruelly, her green eyes nearly flashing in the dim light.

No, no, no! This was just a nightmare; it could not be happening! He opened his mouth and began screaming.

"Save your screaming for later, darling. We're going to have so much fun!" the oily voice said lovingly as he stopped to take a breath.

'This was just a nightmare, and everything would be back to normal when he woke up.'

'This was just- '

Petyr was suddenly crudely dropped on a hard surface, and the pain quickly reminded him of the reality of the situation. He was not dreaming. The giant gauntleted hands of the brutal Kingsguard pressed him and strapped him with manacles, and his limbs were painfully spread out. He desperately tried to claw at the white plate but to no avail.

In the end, even his head could not move, and Petyr was forced to watch with horror as the short, fat man hummed a cheery tune while methodically heating his pair of iron pliers in a small, red-hot furnace. Something warm ran down his leg, and the unpleasant smell of privy hit him.

He should have told King Robert that his wife was cuckolding him.


Eddison Tollett

He did not want it. He had tried. He had. He told everyone he would be an awful Lord Commander. Edd had even sent riders to the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch to call for an election for the 999th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, as per tradition. But for some reason, all the fuckers had turned mad, and he was elected over old and respected members like Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke anyway. Just because Jon Snow now had dragons and had passed on his mantle to him. And that was even before he had managed to reconquer Winterfell and become the new King in the North.

Edd was left with the thankless job of appointing a capable new First Ranger, First Builder, and Lord Steward, as Jon executed all the previous ones for the mutiny. He took his time to carefully select loyal people because he did not want to be stabbed by his brothers like his friend was. Hother Umber proved to be a boon as a steward. The former Castellan of Last Hearth was very passionate about his work and ensured the seamless running of Castle Black. Though Edd still had to maintain the delicate balance between the Watch and the settled Free Folk, which thankfully mostly behaved. But that might have been because of the hostages instead of anything else...

His respect and terror grew at the difficulty of attempting to pull together and prepare the Night's Watch to defend the Wall from the threat beyond the Wall. The icy blue eyes of the Night King still haunted his dreams. Everything remotely important also went through him as Lord Commander. Coordinating the commanders of the other Castles, keeping the tenuous peace with the wildlings, and trying to scrape for supplies and men where there were none.

Thankfully, ever since Jon reclaimed the seat of the North, the small tickle of men to join the Watch increased. The Bolton men-at-arms were a welcome edition, no matter how disgruntled. The shipments of dragonglass, uncut and turned into daggers and spear and arrow tips, were a welcome surprise. He never doubted Jon for a second, but he got things moving quickly as King. The news that Hugo Wull and Greatjon Umber were headed here with the Northern reinforcements raised the spirits of the Watch incredibly. Still, Edd dreaded having to play peacemaker between the giant of Last Hearth and the wildling chieftains...

A knock on the door broke him away from his thoughts. Instead of having all these headaches, he could have been digging latrines without a single care in the world...

"Enter!" he yelled.

It was Satin, who was now his new personal steward and looked far too excited than he had any right to be.

"Lord commander, Hother bade me inform you that the first fish shipments from Eastwatch have finally arrived!"

Edd sighed in relief, finally some fucking good news. Anything other than the tasteless gruel was welcome. Their supplies had run dangerously low after helping Stannis, and now his plans to use his abandoned ships in Eastwatch to fish and feed themselves have started paying off.

"Go practise your archery, Satin," Edd ordered tiredly, and his squire quickly headed outside.

He should probably go and practise some too. He was decent with a sword, but that was about it. As a Lord Commander, a certain level of martial prowess was expected of him...

Edd stood up with a sigh, threw over the thick black cloak over his shoulders and headed towards the yard.

He had not dared to send any rangers north of the Wall. They couldn't afford to lose any men, and they already knew what was there anyway. Wildlings who hated the Watch more than they liked living or simply refused to swear to follow the king's peace, part with their valuables, and defend the Wall. Their numbers were probably quickly dwindling because of the wights and their icy masters.

So instead, the rangers were either patrolling the Wall, foraging for food in the Gift, or practising their skill at arms hard.

Just as he entered the yard, a blond man hurriedly ran through the snow towards him. Why was ranger Emrick in such a hurry?

"Lord Commander, you must see this!" he said worriedly.

"See what?"

"While patrolling to the east, I saw this... big thing perched on top of the Wall, and it refuses to move," the man gulped. Had his ranger taken a leave of his senses?

"Lead the way," he sighed. It wouldn't hurt to check. At least walking was less bothersome than swinging a training sword.

After a painfully slow ascent in the iron cage and a fifteen-minute walk, he finally found the 'big thing' that refused to move. Edd was faced with Winter's gigantic dark blue form, nestled carelessly in the middle of the way, utterly unbothered by the ice or cold. He was not a maester, but the dragon looked too large to be only four moons old. Even mammoths grew slower than this.

As soon as they approached, the dragon bared its fangs which reminded him strongly of curved daggers.

Edd sighed. What the fuck was Jon's dragon doing here?


Aegon Targaryen

"I hereby appoint Jonos Bracken as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands!" he announced. Sparse cheering filled Riverrun's Hall.

House Arryn, Stark, and Baratheon had a legitimate reason to rebel. Still, Hoster Tully had joined them because of a shaky betrothal and even managed to get both of his daughters married to other Lord Paramounts. The old trout had forgotten to whom he owed the original rise of his House, and there was no way in the Seven Hells that House Tully would get off as lightly as Stark and Arryn did. If Edmure and his newborn were still alive in Casterly Rock, that is.

Jonos Bracken had turned incredibly useful in his advance along the Red Fork and had played a key role in convincing other riverlords to bend the knee. As the first man to support him from the Riverlands, a reward was only due. The more generosity and forgiveness Aegon showed now, the easier his campaign in the Westerlands would be. This was how Jaehaerys managed to take the throne after the death of his cruel uncle. Of course, that did not extend to Genna Lannister and her brood.

If it had not looked cruel, he would have killed her, but sending the fat lioness to the Silent Sisters would do for now. Nobody would indulge her with food and wine there. Sending her Frey grandsons to the Watch was met with almost unanimous approval. Tyrion claimed to hate his family yet tried to argue in Genna's favour to no avail and drank himself to a stupor afterwards.

"Only the Blackwoods of the Raventree Hall, the Mallisters of Seaguard, and the Freys of the Twins have not bent the knee yet," Jon Connington spoke up.

"I'll give Jonos two thousand heavy foot, two thousand unsullied, and a thousand horse to collect their fealty," Aegon spoke up.

"Sending Lord Bracken to deal with House Blackwood might turn… problematic," His Hand cautioned.

"Lord Blackwood can bend the knee or be destroyed. He should have sworn fealty to me if he wanted my mercy and protection, yet I do not see him in these halls when his Keep is less than a hundred miles from here. History has shown one thing-their petty feud can only end in one way. I am sending Lord Jonos precisely because he can make an example out of House Blackwood should they refuse to bend the knee. With the fearless unsullied, storming Raventree Hall would be easy," he explained, and Jon nodded with a sigh.

"You've grown more experienced, Aegon. I'm proud of you," his mentor acknowledged quietly, making Aegon beam.

Jon looked more troubled than ever lately and was oft rubbing his gloved hand.

"I will visit Viserion," he said and headed towards the godswood. Flying was amazing, and he did it every day. Just the thought of it made him feel giddy. The freedom and power that riding a dragon in the sky gave was intoxicating more than the finest arbour gold.

Just as he had entered the grove, a roar was heard from the north. He rushed towards the yard. His wife was back! Hopefully, with the fealty of the Vale and the North in tow.

Daenerys had been far colder and prouder than he expected, but he shouldn't have been surprised after all the trials she had gone through. Aegon still hoped that his aunt would warm up to him, and together they could be the next Jaehaerys and Alysanne. After many years of brutal conflict, the realm was badly torn and needed another Conciliator and his Good Queen.

Drogon was sitting in the yard, easily taking up a third of it with his giant form. Viserion and Rhaegal were only half the size of his black sibling. Daenerys' dragons had grown far faster than records from before the Dance indicated, but Aegon was not going to complain. Victory in the Westerlands could only be quick.

Ser Barristan and his wife dismounted, and Daenerys quickly rushed to him. Her beautiful face was paler than usual, and she looked shaken. Even the old knight looked somewhat regretful.

"Call the council immediately. We have a problem," Daenerys spoke tiredly.

"What has you so worried? Did you encounter some trouble on your way?"

"Big trouble," she said with a deep sigh. "Gather them first. I'd rather not repeat myself."

Barristan Selmy, too, looked quite worried.

It took thirty minutes to find every member of his council and assemble it, although the imp was rather tipsy. Thankfully he had not drunk himself into a stupor yet, so he might still be of use.

"He has dragons too!" Daenerys spoke as soon as everyone was present.

"Who has dragons?" Varys asked with quite some confusion.

"Jon Snow," Ser Barristan replied, and the chamber became gravely silent. Aegon pinched himself on the arm to check if he was dreaming. The sharp pain quickly proved that this was not a nightmare.

"Sorry, I might not be drunk enough, but did you just say that Eddard Stark's bastard son has dragons?" Tyrion asked with disbelief.

"Yes, three of them, albeit quite smaller than Drogon," Daenerys spoke through gritted teeth. "I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see them with my own eyes!"

"How?" Aegon asked as he rubbed his brow.

"When I asked him, he claimed he hatched them on his funeral pyre," she said with a scowl.

"How curious. I travelled with the boy a few years ago, and he did not seem to be one for lies. But I suppose time can change a man." Tyrion generously filled his chalice with wine before inquiring carefully, "And precisely how small are they?"

"One was larger than the others, yet was scarcely half the size of Drogon."

He silently thanked the gods for the small mercies. At least they had the size advantage.

"Jon Snow has also married Shireen Baratheon, and she now rides one of the smaller dragons," Ser Barristan added quietly.

Aegon pinched the bridge of his nose. Things were…simpler when the Baratheons were all thought to be all dead… Tommen Waters might still be claiming the name, but Aegon was well aware of his bastardry.

"Are you sure it's truly Stannis' daughter?" Jon asked worriedly.

"Yes, Lord Hand."

"Would be hard to find an impostor with her greyscale," Tyrion said with a snort. "Shireen's great-grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, so it is not outside the realm of possibilities for her to become a dragonrider."

"She no longer has greyscale but a scar, though," Barristan added thoughtfully. "Yet I'm still sure it's Stannis' daughter. She has her father's colouring, her mother's ears, and I've seen her face far too many times to be mistaken."

"Greyscale is supposed to be incurable…." Connington whispered so quietly that Aegon barely heard him. His mentor looked shaken and rubbed his gloved hand uncomfortably.

"I'm more interested to know who Jon Snow's mother was. He clearly did not inherit the ability to hatch and ride dragons from Eddard Stark," Tyrion said with a snort after taking a generous gulp of his silver cup.

"Nobody knows, but there are plenty of unnamed dragonseeds in the crownlands. The Riverlands or the Vale are not lacking in valyrian bastards either. No Targaryen dared to acknowledge a bastard after Daemon Blackfyre, but they continued siring them. One of them could have easily caught the eye of Eddard Stark," Varys suggested.

"Find out if you can," Aegon ordered before looking towards his wife. "I assume he did not agree to swear fealty?"

"Indeed. Harrold Arryn was quick to pay homage at the sight of Drogon, but Jon Snow stubbornly said he would rather fight than bend the knee," Daenerys confirmed his fears quietly, and her lips curled. "He also had the gall to compare us to common brigands."

"A heavy slight for sure, but with winter almost here, we cannot fight a campaign in the North. The Riverlands are stripped bare, and the Crownlands would not be able to keep up with the supply train at such a distance. And once the snow starts falling, our army will simply starve," Connington frowned. "And nobody wants a second Dance."

"Second Dance? His dragons are far smaller than my Drogon. I can fly North again and kill them all by myself! Harren Hoare refused to bend the knee, and the Conqueror made an example out of him. We can make an example of Jon Snow and Winterfell," His wife proposed with an angry glint in her eyes. It seemed that Eddard Stark's son had really struck a blow to her pride to make her propose so… brutal approach from the very beginning.

"Mayhaps we should take a more measured step first? After all, records of the Dance show that having a bigger dragon does not necessarily mean one would always win, Your Grace. In the Battle Above Gods Eye, Vhagar was slain by Caraxes, albeit at the cost of his life," Varys cautioned. "Instead of fighting, we can mayhaps bring the North back into the fold with a marriage alliance, just as Dorne was?

"A good idea, but neither Jon Snow nor we have any eligible heirs to wed, Lord Varys, and alliances built upon unborn babes are shaky at best," Connington countered with a sigh.

Aegon gazed at Lysono Maar and Varys. "I want to know why we have not heard anything of dragons in the North before?"

"Many songs reached my ears but were too fantastical to believe," the eunuch spoke delicately. "How Jon Snow was killed in a mutiny, yet when they tried to burn his corpse, he turned into a dragon and flew away. Or how he was the secret love child of Eddard Stark and Rhaella Targaryen-"

Tyrion burst out in loud laughter and banged his fist on the table. Manfrey Martell snickered quietly, and everyone but Daenerys was looking amused.

"Oh, pardon me," he tried to cough but started giggling madly instead. "Heh, I can see why you wouldn't take that seriously."

This was going to be a problem and one that they would need to solve soon. But they couldn't abandon the Westerlands campaign. Tommen Waters might be a child king, but he was a claimant for the whole of Westeros and not for a single Kingdom. He was also significantly closer.

"From now on, report everything from the North, no matter how… unbelievable," Aegon ordered with a sigh. "Do you know if Jon Snow has the support of the Northern Lords despite deserting the Watch?"

"I believe that he does," Ser Barristan spoke heavily. "Wyman Manderly was his Hand, and the Lord of White Harbour said that Jon Snow was legitimised, freed from his oaths from the Night's Watch, and named heir by his brother, Robb Stark."

Aegon rubbed his brow tiredly. So any plans to undermine Jon Snow from the North would likely fail. Thinking on it, it would also be too problematic for a mighty vassal to be dragonriders. They would be able to revolt and challenge the crown at any point with high chances of success. Not to mention the claim to the Seven Kingdoms that Shireen Baratheon's progeny would give their future generation. No, he would not leave such a dangerous problem to his future descendants.

"We will deal with Tommen and the Westerlands first before looking northward," he ordered. "Once we've dealt with Cersei's bastard, Daenerys and I will fly North to deal with Jon Snow and his Baratheon wife once and for all. We even sent the Queen in good faith as an envoy, yet they dared to insult her. House Stark will receive no mercy."

Without the Starks, the rest of the North would be like a pile of loose sand, unable to truly unite for centuries, just like the Reach without the Gardeners.

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